


With Fright On Your Face

by dorianpavus



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Comfort Sex, Community: salt_burn_porn, Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorianpavus/pseuds/dorianpavus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunger Games AU. <i>Yesterday was Dean's birthday; tomorrow, the Reaping. And, caught in between the two, today - a nothing, a vacuum, empty space whose only purpose was to provide a path between one and the other.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	With Fright On Your Face

**Author's Note:**

> Written for for the prompt "tango 'til you're sore". Flash!fic. Title and series title from _That's Okay_ by The Hush Sound. Many thanks to [~amorremanet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet) and [~geckoholic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic) for the super fast beta jobs.

Yesterday was Dean's birthday; tomorrow, the Reaping. And, caught in between the two, today — a nothing, a vacuum, empty space whose only purpose was to provide a path between one and the other.

It drags, as well, this intermediary day. It was easier in earlier years, when they were young enough to ignore the looming horror in favour of the novelty of whatever treat Dean's birthday had bought - a sweet roll, perhaps, that they would carefully portion out throughout the day, one year a hand carved toy sailboat that they'd amused themselves with for months before it had vanished, pulled under the waves by an undertow they hadn't noticed. Last year it had passed in a blur of anxiety, his hands and mind preoccupied with helping Mother stitch wounds and set bones after a nasty accident on one of the trawling boats. 

The kids splashing around in the shallows seem ludicrous to him, now. Tomorrow, they'll be silent, frozen in fear until the names are chosen and they're either freed for another year or sentenced. There's a couple of older ones among them, as well, determined to scrape what they can out of this afternoon or just helping distract the younger ones, he's not sure. Cas can see Dean, tall and golden as he grabs a girl's feet out from under her when she pauses and turns quiet, dunking her, sees her come up squealing with laughter as she splashes back at him.

Dean spots him, gives him a sad, endearingly crooked grin and tips his head towards the group, an invitation to join, to try and forget.

He does, briefly, consider joining them, but while Dean is safe this year, too old at nineteen to have his name included anymore, Caspen is not; he has not just tomorrow but next year as well to face.

He shakes his head, slightly, and he can feel Dean's concerned gaze digging into his back between his shoulder blades, as he turns and heads away from the beach.

#

It's dark by the time Cas taps lightly on the door of the dilapidated Winchester residence, late enough that's he's twice had to dodge Peacekeeper patrols. It's not that district 4 has a curfew for him to violate by being out this late - besides, several of the gutting crews are likely to still be working at this time, cleaning today's catch so it can be in the Capitol by morning - but generally, encounters with the Peacekeepers are unpleasant and best avoided regardless of the circumstances. Nothing to be gained, and a lot of ways to lose.

Dean smiles tiredly when he opens the door, curls an arm around Cas' waist as soon as the door is safely shut, presses his lips against Cas' temple when he sags into Dean's side. It's safe, here, with Dean warm and steady and vibrantly alive; chases away the spectre of the Reaping that's been holding on to him all day. It's not gone, of course, won't be gone for another year and a day, but, for now, it's retreated.

(And maybe it won't be gone, even after his final Reaping, because there's still the plaque up on the mantle at home, sent by the Capitol to commemorate how _well_ Gabriel had done by coming in second in his Games - but it didn't matter, at all, because winning was the only thing that mattered and the only difference between last and second was how much the Gamemakers toyed with you first.)

Dean is a solid presence that Cas tucks himself against; he leans into Dean's side, buries his face against the older boy's collarbone for a moment and breathes in the scent, tries to imagine he's breathing in some of Dean's strength - but that's only partially true, because Dean is only ever strong _for_ other people, and not for himself. Still, he should probably not be relying on Dean's steady shoulder when there are others (Sam) who need it more, and after a while he sighs, hears Dean echo it and glances up, hand following his gaze so he can brush his fingers over the perpetual shadows that lie under Dean's eyes.

Dean musters up a half smile, turns his head into Cas' hand to press a kiss to his palm.

"C'mon, Pretty Boy, it's gonna be fine… you don't even have any _tesserae_ , your name's in what, six times? The odds are pretty damn hot in your favour." Dean's voice is quiet, his tone light but Cas can hear the strain underneath it - even if he's illiterate when it comes to anyone else, he can make sense of Dean. "You up to moving somewhere more comfortable, or you wanna keep standing here in the doorway?" 

The lack of volume means Sam's decided to deal with his nerves by going to sleep, and Cas relaxes a trifle; he would never begrudge Sam his majority share of Dean's attention, but tonight it is nice not to have to share. He sighs again, softly, and nods an answer as he separates himself from Dean's side, lets himself be led to Dean's room, perching on the edge of the bed as he takes his boots off, chewing his lip a bit before he lies down, staring up at the ceiling.

Dean doesn't push the matter, doesn't offer any more reassurances - maybe he can tell that it's just not going to work, not tonight - and they drift into silence.

#

It starts with barely-there kisses dropped to his neck, his cheek, his clothed shoulder. They're soft and gentle as they land on his jaw, Dean's lip dragging a little on the faint layer of stubble, and back to his neck to trace a path from his shoulder up behind his ear, pulling Cas slowly, slowly out of the blanket of absent numbness he'd been wrapping himself in. Dean's mouth moves again, scattering kisses to Cas' temple, his hairline and the corner of his mouth, hovers for a moment before it drops to Cas', light and questioning.

It occurs to Cas, eventually, that he is supposed to respond; that he cannot just lie here and let Dean lavish attention on him, as nice as that sounds. Dean's kisses are taking on an anxious feel and Cas wonders, for a moment, how long he had dazed out for. He doesn't ask, though, just lifts one of his sluggish arms to curl his fingers in Dean's shirt where he's propped himself over Cas on one elbow, and lips at Dean's mouth for a moment before kissing back, swallows the relieved sigh Dean makes and closes his eyes as he echoes it, somehow taking some of the strangling tightness with it on the escaped air.

Dean takes it as encouragement, teasing Cas' mouth open and deepening the kiss, his free hand coming up to rest on Cas' jaw. The touch leaks warmth and care that seeps under Cas' skin, slow and insidious as it radiates out, burns away the apathy and gives Cas a point to focus on.

It pauses there, for a while, the exchange of slow, deep rolling kisses without intent, kisses that aren't anything but kisses for the sake of closeness and having somewhere to hide, almost lazy in the time they take, and with the heat of Dean's mouth, the bright focus of his touch, the shadow of tomorrow slinks a little further away, is rendered less and less important by the fact of _Dean_. And _yes_ , this is what he needs, Dean's lips and skin and too-bright touches that leave glowing trails on Cas' skin where they brush his cheek, through his hair, down his neck.

Something inside him snaps at the realisation, and he moans into the kiss, tightening his grip in Dean's shirt to pull him down and over, until his legs are tangled with Cas' and his body is a comforting, warm weight pressing Cas into the mattress; a stalwart reassurance that he's _there, right there_.

Dean's hands graze their way under Cas' shirt, run up his sides, leave paths on Cas' skin as the kisses turn harder, more purposeful, messier and more urgent; develop a new turbulence and intensity that leaves Cas gasping for ragged, near-painful lungfuls of air in between, as Dean drags Cas' shirt over his head, casting it aside before he's suddenly _back_ , smattering hard kisses over Cas' shoulders and chest without apparent pattern before his mouth drops to Cas' nipple, dragging his teeth over the nub.

Cas _whines_ , twists his fingers up in the back of Dean's shirt as he arches a little, can feel Dean's self-satisfied smirk against his too-sensitive skin as Dean moves lower; mouthing at the sensitive skin of Cas' stomach, pressing open-mouthed kisses over his navel and sucking a dark mark above his waistband as Cas' fingers curl in Dean's shirt, his hair, the sheets, trying to find _something_ he can hold on to, when Dean keeps slipping from his grasp and letting the cold and the shadows back in.

Dean's back a moment later, his mouth pressed to Cas' again as he resettles, his fingertips trailing fire as they run up the back of Cas' thigh, draw another moan from him as he unconsciously spreads his legs wider, and he can't help smirking against Dean's mouth when the other boy lets slip a soft growl and he can feel Dean's interest against his hip.

"Is this okay?" Dean's words are urgent, pressing, for all they're half mumbled into Cas' mouth. It takes a moment for Cas to realise that Dean's fingers have shifted again, are hovering on his belt buckle, waiting for permission, but he nods urgently, manages to piece together enough in the way of vocabulary to gasp out an urgent " _Yes,_ " as he uses the opportunity to drag Dean's shirt off and run his hands over Dean's skin. He traces the curve of Dean's slightly-too-prominent ribs and runs his mouth across the freckled expanse of his shoulder, tastes the tang of sea salt on his tongue mixed with something else, something more human, and digs his teeth in to the skin; it makes Dean hiss and buck against him, fumbling Cas' zipper in the process, and Cas does it again.

Dean sits back on his heels for a moment, breathing heavily, and Cas has a moment to smugly think _I did that_ , before the train of thought gets abruptly derailed by Dean unceremoniously dragging off Cas' pants and underwear. He's about to say something - doesn't know what - doesn't matter when _now_ is all there is and tomorrow is hours and hours of Dean's skin away - but breaks off with a choked sound, pushing up onto his elbows to watch as Dean's hands fall to his own belt, fumbling again when his gaze crashes into Cas'.

He doesn't bother getting rid of them entirely, leaves his pants and underwear in a twist of material around his calves as he crawls back up to claim Cas' mouth, sucking on Cas' tongue until he whimpers, digs his nails into the muscles of Dean's back and holds on as Dean shifts his hips around and it's not until he realises that Dean's trying to line them up to get a hand around them both that he half-breaks the kiss, shaking his head as he gasps into Dean's mouth.

"No. No - in me."

Dean stills for a moment, staring down at him wide-eyed, and Cas fights back a whine.

"Please?"

Dean doesn't answer, but his mouth's back on Cas', slower again this time and thorough as he brushes his fingers along Cas' flank, slowly tracing them back up along his side and up his neck until they nudge against Cas' mouth, a clear instruction. He keeps his eyes locked on Dean's, swirls his tongue around the digits, nips at the tip and smirks when Dean groans softly, eyes staring at where his fingers are disappearing into Cas' mouth before he slips them free.

The press of Dean's fingers is odd; somehow different to Cas' own late night experimentation, and he groans a bit as they slip in - one at first, then two, three… Cas wants to growl at Dean to just _get on with it already_ when he stops to spit into his hand some more, but bites back the frustrated, impatient noise, and - _eventually_ \- Dean shifts back up, steals another kiss as he presses his forehead against Cas', fingers curling in the sheets as he pushes in.

The air punches out of Cas' lungs, and he whimpers, digs his nails into Dean's back and closes his eyes as he tries to remember how breathing works, how anything works, scrambles to draw in a harsh, sucking breath - and the world starts to move again as he nudges Dean into moving.

Dean shifts, almost cautiously, and Cas moans as he pushes back in, his head falling back to expose his throat to Dean's mouth, shivers a little as Dean sucks at his pulse-point and arches into the touch when Dean drags a thumbnail over his nipple. His skin feels too hot, too tight, enough that every touch of Dean's sends showers of sparks at over-sensitised nerve endings, makes Cas moan again, lower and more urgent, until it breaks off in a stuttered gasp as something inside him _flares_ , makes him push back against Dean urgently.

Dean moves slowly; refuses to be hurried as he takes long slow strokes and his mouth is back at Cas' but they're not so much _kissing_ anymore as they are breathing wetly into each other's mouths; their foreheads pressed together and even in the dim light Cas can see that Dean's pupils are blown wide, has a brief moment to wonder about his own before Dean skims past that place again and shatters the thought into a thousand pieces, shatters coherence until there's nothing left but _Dean_ and now and he's spilling _Dean, please, Dean_ into Dean's mouth as he's drawn out and out and out, strung out until he's nothing but a live wire and so damn sensitive that every light touch is almost _too much_ , all consuming and everything.

He falls, then, a spiral of heat and tightness and need that kicks him in the gut and grabs hold and leaves him wrung out and satiated and exhausted, and it's only once his nerves stop pinging with aftershocks that he finds Dean slumped against his chest, eyes closed, and it's about all the energy Cas can raise to lift an arm and drag his fingers through Dean's sweat-damp hair.

Dean stirs, eyes cracking open at the touch, and he blinks at Cas befuddledly for a moment before he smiles softly, shifting back until Cas stops him, curling his leg tighter around Dean's to hold him in place.

Dean sighs, leans down to steal a gentle kiss.

"You're going to be sore enough as it is, y'know."

Cas makes an indistinct, agreeable sounding noise , and wraps his arms around Dean's back. After a moment, Dean sighs and settles back down, saying something about how it's on Cas' head then that Cas doesn't really catch.

#

Becky's fingers fumble a little as she draws out the slip of paper, the yard quiet enough that everyone can hear the faint buzz of the microphone, the crackle of the paper as she unfolds it.

The only other noise is the faint sobbing of the young blonde girl already claimed as Tribute - the one Cas had watched Dean dunk yesterday. No one's really paying any attention to her at the moment, despite her being on stage, because right now, the slip of paper in Becky's hands is the focus of attention.

Cas is rather certain he is going to be sick when the microphone whines louder, his attention darting to Becky's ridiculous, green-painted lips as she leans closer.

"The male tribute from District 4 is-" He is definitely going to be sick. Or die from lack of oxygen because he can't seem to draw in any air. "Sam Winchester! Come on up here, Sam, please, let's get a look at you-"

Later Cas will think up all sorts of rational reasons for what he does next, but right now all he can see is Dean, stuck on the far side of the rope and unable to stop this, face blanched white through the crowds as he yells objection and the Peacekeepers close in, and he's not even aware of what he's said until he hears himself numbly repeating it.

"I volunteer… I volunteer as Tribute."

He is really, very definitely going to be sick.

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to this has been started and will be posted as part of the [Supernatural Cross Over Big Bang](http://sncross_bigbang.livejournal.com).


End file.
